Dear Prince
by Sequoya
Summary: College was not what Echizen Ryoma had expected. Between intense tennis, annoying roommates, and a sea of homework, Ryoma found himself drawn to three people in particular. OT4.
1. Chapter 1

**Pairings:** OT4. Ryoma/Fuji/Tezuka/Atobe. Ryoma-centric.

 **DEAR PRINCE**

* * *

Chapter 1: 'floating away on a sunset'

* * *

Echizen Ryoma woke up to a seamless strand of sunlight on his face. He stared at the dancing shadows on his ceiling for a moment, quiet. Karupin was pressed against his hip.

An almost invisible smile crept onto his face.

It was finally time.

* * *

The 17-year old, cat-eyed golden boy stood boredly outside the taxi cab, his eyes averted toward the bright sun. "Che… it's way too hot." He shifted the weight of his bag from one hand to the other, tired of holding it. The bag was overpacked, straining at the straps like an overstuffed sushi roll.

Ryoma rolled his eyes. He knew his mother had added extra things _just in case._ He wouldn't be surprised if he opened it up and found his old stuffed animals spilling out. How embarrassing.

Clinging to the vestiges of summer, the leaves were still a bright viridescent, the wind still and unbecoming of the upcoming fall. Ryoma watched the sky swelter in heat. A few moments passed. Eye twitching, Ryoma shouted, "Oyaji! Hurry up!" His voice was uncharacteristically loud. That was the only way he could deal with his baka father.

There was no response. Ryoma stared at the front door of his shrine, lips pursed, but then his heart rose to his throat. Damn it. He'd miss this place. Even if most of it was spent arguing with his father and napping under the cool summer sky, it was still home.

Always would be.

In a vicious flash, Ryoma suddenly remembered clutching his red racquet at 4-years old, eyes starlit and shining with determined tears. He remembered his mother chasing him under the clothing line, playing with him in the wet rolling grass, laughter on her face. He remembered climbing the crooked staircase, two at a time, screaming, "Oyaji is mean!" before being snatched into a hug by his father.

Ryoma swallowed.

Right in the middle of his nostalgia, Nanjiroh came stumbling out through the front door, unshaved, and barefoot. "Hora hora…" he said, an annoying smirk on his face. "What's the rush? You got somewhere to go?"

Ryoma tugged his cap down, hoping the taxi driver paid his idiot father no mind. "Stop playing dumb," he demanded.

"So uncute." Nanjiroh scoffed, dangling his sandal between his toes like he was in a circus act. "You'd think you'd stop being such a brat now that you're going off to college. Still immature as ever."

Ryoma looked him up and down with disgust. "You're one to talk."

"Ehh? What's that supposed to mean! I'm plenty responsible!"

"When, in your dreams?"

"Brat." Nanjiroh narrowed his eyes. "Don't get all cocky now. You still haven't beaten me in tennis."

Ryoma shrugged, even as his heart gave an agitated pinch. He felt an overwhelming desire to get his racquet out and have a heated match. He pushed this desire aside. He wouldn't get a match with his father until at least Christmas. Ryoma paused, an uncharacteristic shadow passing his eyes. He usually played with his father everyday. It was going to be… a long wait.

A large hand fell on his head, yanked his cap away, and mussed up his hair.

"Stop! You'll mess it up," Ryoma grumbled, snatching back his cap.

Nanjiroh just chuckled. "Why? Worried about impressing the ladies?"

"No," Ryoma said shortly. He stuffed his cap back on his unruly black-green hair. "I just don't want to get infected by your stupidity."

"Ouch. You really are heartless, aren't you?"

"Better than being a useless monk."

"Take that back!"

"Yadda."

Under the luminescent sun, Nanjiroh threw his head back, and started laughing obscenely. Ryoma winced at the sound, and glanced back at the taxi cab driver, wishing he could crawl under the tires and get run over. Why _did_ his father have to be such a complete and total idiot?

"Are you giving Ryoma a hard time?"

Saved by the soft voice of his mother. Ryoma's face eased as Rinko came down the front porch, her hair pulled up, and her eyes red and puffy. "I can't believe this," she said, shaking her head. They'd already had this conversation probably five hundred times leading up to this day. "My boy is all grown up. Going away to university."

"Che." Ryoma scuffed his shoe against the dirt uncomfortably. "It's not a big deal."

"Yes." Her eyes glimmered. "So many things happen to a young man in college. You'll come back changed."

"Hopefully for the better!" Nanjiroh chortled in the background.

They both ignored him.

Rinko wrapped her arms around Ryoma, and swept her son into a tight hug. Ryoma shivered, and just for a moment, he succumbed to his emotions. He closed his eyes tightly, and breathed in his mother's scent of cherry blossoms and laundry detergent. They stood like that for a precious few seconds that felt like hours. Finally, Ryoma tugged away, and his mother let him go reluctantly.

"Sorry you have to deal with baka oyaji on your own," Ryoma said.

Rinko rolled her eyes, but newly shed tears streamed down her face. "I can handle him."

Ryoma stared at his mother. She had a few grey streaks in her hair now, but she was still the light in the house that held everyone together. Ryoma had a sudden urge to cry, which wouldn't do at all, so he said, rather hoarsely, "I should go." Before they could respond, he opened the taxi door, and slammed it shut.

His heart rattled against his ribcage.

As the gusty air conditioning of the taxi hit him, he stared out though the tinted window at the large, generous trees on his front lawn. He wondered what kind of trees would cover the lawn of his new school. Would they be plush, thick cherry blossoms, or weeping willows? His hands tightened in his lap, and he brusquely pushed aside the thoughts.

He'd be fine. He'd just kill everyone in tennis and gain respect through total and utter apathy.

It had always worked before.

There was a knock on his window. His father's grinning, stupid face had pressed itself up against it.

Ryoma frowned, and rolled down his window. "What?"

"You forgot this," Nanjiroh said, waving a baby blue wristband in front of his face.

"Oh." Ryoma yanked it from his hands. "Thanks."

"Alright. I guess this is it, seishounen."

"Whatever."

"I expect a girlfriend coming home for Christmas!"

Cue rolling down the window. Ryoma watched as the window cut over Nanjiroh's cackling expression. How he was related to this guy, Ryoma would never know. As the taxi started to pull out of the driveway, Ryoma toyed with his wristband, and paused. Wait… was there writing on the inside?

He flipped the wristband inwards. In tiny black lettering, in his father's handwriting, it said, _Ryoma, the world is yours._

Ryoma blinked rapidly.

"Stupid," he mumbled, slipping his wristband on, the heavy weight of the words pressed against his skin, embedding them into his bloodstream. He stared out the window and watched as his father and mother waved from the porch. The lump lodged in his throat scratched against the inside of his neck.

For a split second, he wondered if he should have just stayed home. Done school nearby. He quickly shook his head at the thoughts.

As the car pulled onto the road, the blue sky stretched endlessly into the horizon, a skyline that never finished. He ran his hand over the wristband, staring at the clouds running by.

 _Ryoma, the world is yours._

Echizen Ryoma smirked, and settled into his seat, pulling his cap low over his face.

He couldn't wait to see what his new school had in store for him.

* * *

The nostalgia left him quickly, as expected. Ryoma peered through the window curiously as his college came into view. He'd seen pictures in pamphlets and online videos, of course, but he'd never been there in person. It was a five hour drive and his father couldn't be bothered to drive him. _Instead, he wasted his time reading porn magazines,_ Ryoma thought wryly.

The school was supposed to be prestigious. Too prestigious for Ryoma to afford, but because of his tennis wins and academic marks, he'd been offered a full scholarship. As he stared at the huge buildings and wide glass windows, he took a small breath. The college campus was _huge._ He couldn't see where it started or ended, and he briefly wondered how the hell he would get from class to class.

On the bright side, it wasn't cold and boring. There were older, vintage buildings, and an abundance of trees that gave it the appearance of a park. Ryoma was pleased by the sight of them. He could imagine picking his favourite one, and napping there daily in between class breaks.

His tennis bag was pressed against his thigh. Tennis. He wondered if all the players would be 'mada mada dane" like in his high school.

"And here it is," the taxi driver said boredly. "Atobe University."

Ryoma thanked the driver and paid the fare, before heaving out his suitcase from the trunk. All he'd brought with him was a small suitcase and a duffle bag. Basic furniture had already been provided in the residence rooms. Speaking of dorms… how the hell was he supposed to find them?

As Ryoma stood in the middle of the giant college, he felt small. The sky was wide and huge above him, and students milled across the campus grounds. Tall, new buildings surrounded him, all unfamiliar.

His grip tightened around his tennis bag.

It was also unseasonably hot.

First things first, Ryoma finally decided, he needed to get himself a Ponta.

.

"Hey," Ryoma said, voice short. "Do you know where the dorms are?"

The student he'd stopped to ask just gave him a funny look, and ignored him. Ryoma watched him walk away, an uneasy feeling growing in his stomach. Shrugging, he found another group of guys who were lounging beneath a tree. "Hey," he said, tone bored. "Where's the dorms?"

The guys, who had been talking loudly, fell silent. Then, one of them snorted. "Find them yourself."

Ryoma blinked. _Rude_. Fine. Ryoma turned and stalked away, but he heard them laughing, saying, "Freshmen, love to hate them." He pursed his lips, and tried to ignore the heavy lead weight building inside him. Why did this always happen to him? He knew he wasn't exactly the _warmest_ person on the planet, but no one ever seemed to want to be his friend.

In high school, he could count on one hand hand how many friends he had. Zero. People admired him silently for his tennis skills and calm demeanour, but no one actually talked to him.

Was he _scary?_ Ryoma didn't know.

And it looked like the whole antisocial thing was going to happen all over again in college. Ryoma tried to push aside the hurt. Whatever. That was just how it was. He didn't really need friends anyway. Right?

For the next half hour, Ryoma wandered around trying to find the dorm building, and failed miserably. The hot summer sun clung to air, and Ryoma tugged at the collar of his shirt. He just wanted to find his room so he could collapse in bed and nap. It was too fucking hot for this. Still, pride on the line, Ryoma didn't ask anyone for directions again.

He kept looking on his own, hoping that there would be some sort of campus map somewhere, but he couldn't find any. The sun was setting lowly on the horizon, the sky orange and pink. The humidity still hadn't let up, and Ryoma's eyes fluttered half-closed. Where the hell were the dorms?

He was starting to hate college.

"Hello. Are you lost?"

Ryoma paused. His eyes narrowed, and he turned around. In front of him was a boy who looked a couple years older than him. He had a camera strapped around his neck, and a serene smile on his face. His eyes were closed, as if he were enjoying the breeze, except there was no breeze.

"Who are you?" Ryoma said carefully.

"Fuji Syusuke," the boy said. He was slender and beautiful. "I'm a third year. Are you new?"

"First year," Ryoma said.

Fuji smiled knowingly. "Thought so. Do you need help?"

Ryoma answered him flatly. "Where are the dorms?"

"That depends," Fuji said. "Which dorm are you in?"

"There's more than one?"

Fuji laughed, softly, and Ryoma thought the sound was like a quiet ocean ripple. "You really are confused."

Ryoma bristled, walls going up instantly. "If you don't want to help, that's fine."

"Wow. You're surprisingly sensitive."

"I'm _tired_ ," Ryoma said protectively. Che. Him? Sensitive? It was a ridiculous statement. This Fuji guy looked amused, the smile on his face edging upward into something real rather than fake. Ryoma wanted to throw a tennis ball at his face. He refrained from doing so, but he did give his best glare.

Fuji just raised an eyebrow. "Cute."

What the hell was wrong with this guy?

Ryoma didn't say anything. Fuji began walking in some random direction, and Ryoma stood there, dejected. So he really was being ditched to find the dorms alone again. But then Fuji paused in his steps, just for a second, and gave him a wave, indicating he follow.

Hesitantly, Ryoma did as asked. They walked silently through the campus grounds. The noise had died down, as most students were now comfortably in their dorms. Ryoma wiped the sweat from his forehead, and stared up at the orangey sky. He wondered if he would find his place here.

"What's your name?" Fuji asked.

Ryoma glanced at him. "Echizen Ryoma."

"Echizen," Fuji said. He seemed to be testing out the name on his tongue. "Well, Echizen, did you know that the earth is moving at 30 km per second right now?"

"What?"

"Our planet is orbiting at thirty kilometres per second. And we can't feel any of it."

Ryoma bit his lip contemplatively, and stared at the grass beneath his feet, suddenly feeling dizzy. "Wow," he said quietly. He had an urge to grab onto the nearest wall and hold on, but he obviously didn't do that. When he looked back up, Fuji was studying him, eyes open, a clear, crystal blue.

The colour shocked Ryoma to the bone. He'd never seen such strange, pretty eyes before. His mouth went dry.

"I like telling people I meet that," Fuji said. "See their reactions."

"So it's like a test?" Ryoma didn't like that.

"It's not serious. Some people just don't think about it for more than a second, even though it's actually quite insane. We're moving through space and time faster than any car or rollercoaster will ever go."

"Did I pass?" Ryoma asked dryly. "Your test?"

Fuji hummed. "That's for me to know."

"Hmm." Ryoma watched the slim young man with a frown. How annoying.

As they walked through a thicket of trees, Fuji paused every now and then, snapping a picture with his camera. They were odd pictures. Ryoma didn't understand why anyone would take pictures of dirt and leaves, but whatever.

The guy seemed weird anyway.

Inhaling softly, Ryoma rolled his shoulders back, and looked up through the trees. The sun was coming down at an angle as it set, watery and luminescent, beyond a seamless endpoint. Hot, long, silent. Ryoma knew he would remember this day. His first day of university. Now the only question was, would he remember it as a sad or happy memory? Suddenly, there was a snap, and a flash.

Ryoma winced. "Hey! Did you just-"

"Sorry," Fuji said, and his eyes were incredibly blue and soft. "You just looked…I needed to take a photo."

"Delete it," Ryoma grumbled. "I didn't give you permission."

"You looked like firelight."

"You're weird," Ryoma said uncomfortably. Self-consciously, he pressed his tennis bag closer to his side. Fuji eyed the tennis bag for a moment, a smile coming onto his lips, but he didn't say another word. They walked the rest of the way without another stop.

They entered the dorm building a little bit after. Ryoma breathed a sigh of relief as air conditioning flooded the lobby. The fluorescent lights overhead were bright. A glance out the window told him they'd made it just in time before it had gotten dark.

"This is the most common dorm building for freshmen," Fuji remarked. "Let's see if you're in this one."

Ryoma nodded absentmindedly. In the next few minutes, he was able to retrieve his key and a list of rules and expectations from the front counter. "Ahh… no cats," he said, staring at the list. He'd already known this of course, which was why Karupin was miles away.

A hard lump formed in his throat. Fuck. There was no way he'd be getting good sleep.

"Okay, Echizen," Fuji said. "It was nice meeting a cute freshman like yourself. But my dorm is on the other side of campus. I should get going."

"The other side of campus?" Ryoma said, pointedly ignoring the 'cute' reference. "Why'd you help?"

"Why not?" Fuji asked. "I like taking walks anyway."

"It's hot," Ryoma said stiffly.

"I'm pretty much immune to everything uncomfortable," Fuji said. "Which you'll soon learn about me quite quickly."

"I will?" Ryoma echoed. He probably wouldn't even see this Fuji guy again.

"Yes. Open your palm."

"W-what?"

Fuji just stared at him, and the look in those shattering blue eyes was shiver-inducing. He'd seriously never seen anything like them. Mind blank, he opened his hand. Then, he felt an ink tip press against his palm. Fuji held his wrist as he wrote an address down. Ryoma's skin burned at the touch, but a warm feeling swept him under, like an ocean breeze.

Fuji tapped the pen against his hand when he was done. "That's the club I'm going to tomorrow night. You should come."

"I should?" Ryoma said.

"Have a couple of drinks."

"I'm… underage."

Fuji chuckled. "Don't worry, honey. Everyone here practically is."

 _Honey_? What the hell was he getting himself into? Whatever. He'd just not go. But he smiled politely anyway, and said, "I'll try," before turning around. When he reached the stairwell, he glanced back, but Fuji had disappeared, the only sign he'd been there being the lingering closing of the front double doors.

Ryoma stared down at the unfamiliar handwriting on the palm of his hand.

Was this… an ode to friendship?

… or a trick?

He furrowed his brow, shrugged, and went up the stairwell to find his room. He'd figure it out later. He always did.

* * *

Ryoma stared. And stared. And internally cursed.

There were two beds on either side of the room, which was normal, since he knew he'd have to share with a roommate. But while his side of the room was still immaculate and unused, the other side was… Ryoma had no words. It was a hurricane.

Clothes were draped on every inch of the floor. Jerseys, shorts, leather jackets, tennis clothes (a hint of a smile formed on Ryoma's face at that), shoes, socks, and… were those condoms? _Used_? Ryoma shuddered internally, taking a step back from the entrance. The lamplight was on, and Ryoma couldn't even tell the colour of the guy's desk because it was dumped with notebooks and textbooks.

What the fuck? He didn't want to share with this… this… Before he could think of a suitable insult in his head, he heard the culprit. A low, humming, saying, "Momo-chan, Momo-chan is the greatest," was to be heard. The sound was coming from the bathroom, which Ryoma didn't even want to _begin_ to imagine.

A moment later, the devil revealed himself. Ryoma paused, taking in his appearance. The guy was big for a freshman. He had spiked gelled hair, and his hands were in his pockets. He was wearing a necklace with a skull at the end. Bright violet eyes stared back at him.

"Ahh… are you… Echizen?"

"Yes."

"I'm Momoshiro, although that'll be Momo-senpai to you," he said, while discretely kicking his clothes under the bed, a sheepish smile on his face. "I didn't know you'd be coming today, or I would have cleaned up a little."

"Momo… senpai?" Ryoma questioned.

"I'm a second year," Momo said proudly.

Ryoma must have had a questioning look in his eyes, as Momo went on to explain, "Sometimes second years share with first years, because we have way too many first years! They're like a giant herd every single year!" Momo moaned in complaint, and Ryoma resisted pointing out the fact that this Momo guy had just been a freshman last year.

"I don't get it," Ryoma said. "How does that work out?"

"Ehh. Well, people get weeded out. Just 'cause you got into the school…. doesn't mean you can take the heat." Momo shuddered, as if recalling painful memories of his first year. "Lots of people fail or dropout."

"Hehhh." Ryoma smirked. He wasn't worried. He could handle anything that came his way in every single aspect except social interactions. He was born socially awkward, it seemed, but he hid it well with apathy and a carefully mastered careless confidence.

Gingerly keeping his distance from the disaster that was Momo, Ryoma placed his suitcase and duffle bag on the bed. He shook his arm around, exhausted from having carried it around the whole day. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and stared at the hardwood floor beneath his feet.

He felt homesick already.

Momo watched him peculiarly. "Since I'm your senpai, you can ask me any questions you want! I'll even show you the cheapest places to eat!"

"Oh, really?" Ryoma said disinterestedly.

The older boy was not affected by his tone. "Yes! There's this burger place! You're going to die when we eat there."

 _We?_ Ryoma raised a brow. He shrugged. Oh, well. It couldn't hurt, and besides, Ryoma actually liked burgers.

He was too tired to converse anyway. Ryoma was a highly introverted person, and he already knew this Momo was going to drain him bone dry.

"I'm going to sleep," Ryoma announced.

"Whaat? But the night is young!" Momo whined. "And we just met! I want to know all about my new kouhai."

"There's nothing to know."

"I doubt that! You're cute! I bet you have girl stories!"

Ha. Girl stories. Sure, he'd had admirers. But girlfriend? Nope. Well, he'd never even had a real friend, so no surprise there.

Ryoma glanced at him, sharpening his gold eyes, and he watched a strange expression cross Momo's face. "What?" Ryoma said defensively.

"Nothing." Momo smiled a little. "I hope you feel at home here, Echizen."

The words were spoken in a soft tone, and Ryoma suddenly felt transparent. He couldn't find it in him to reply, so he tore his gaze away from Momo's friendly face. For some reason, Momo reminded him of his father. Shrugging off his tennis bag, Ryoma flopped onto his twin-sized bed.

The long day had been hot and tiring. He was aware that he was still in the clothes he'd worn all day, but he didn't have the strength to change. He stared at the ceiling, and absentmindedly ran his fingers over the address written on his hand. Momo watched him a bit longer, before saying something about 'going to call a girl'. Ryoma relaxed into the bed.

He fell asleep to the sound of a quiet fan and Momo flirting on the phone-line.

Home.

Maybe he'd find it here. Ryoma curled into the blankets. But right now, he had never felt more out of place.


	2. Chapter 2

**DEAR PRINCE**

* * *

Chapter 2: 'the earth splits in two'

* * *

 _Were the trees crying that day?_

 _Was the sky falling?_

 _Was the earth splitting in two?_

 _Were the comets draining from your eyes?_

"Che, that _is_ stupid."

"Isn't it?" Momo said, smacking his head against his textbook. "I hate English class!"

Ryoma leaned over him, wrists pressed against the maple desk. "Classes don't start until next week."

"Classes are hell!" Momo said. "Any student at Atobe knows to start preparing over the summer. Except me… well, I was busy doing important things… like… you know, stuff. So now I only have a week."

"What kind of stuff?" Ryoma asked curiously.

Momo looked sheepish. "Uh… video games?"

Ryoma rolled his eyes, and Momo dejectedly shoved his face back into his English textbook as if he were dying. A few minutes later, he made noises like he was being strangled, and Ryoma let out a small laugh, shaking his head. He wasn't sure what to think of this Momo character, but the guy was funny, at least. That was something.

The afternoon sky was high in the sky, and it shone in through the window, painting the carpeted dorm room with yellow golden beams. Momo had woken him up at noon that morning. The older boy had given him a grand tour of the campus, which mostly consisted of things like, "This is where your death will be!" and "This is where you'll want to dropout!" and "This is where you'll seriously consider succumbing to a career of drug dealing!"

Ryoma thought Momo was exaggerating. The workload couldn't be _that_ bad. Right?

They'd returned back to the dorm after that, because Momo had to study, and Ryoma, not knowing what else to do, had followed him.

"The eyes of firelight donned the crack of dusk," Momo read miserably. "And all was lost to the sound of empty echoes." He made a pitiful wailing noise. "I don't want to find the metaphor, I don't _want to,_ " he sobbed.

Ryoma watched him amusedly, although his heart pricked at the word firelight. He suddenly remembered how Fuji had called him that last evening. And he remembered Fuji's eyes, aqua like a blue-green sea. His hand unconsciously drifted to his palm, and he stared at the inked writing. Should he- no! No. Ryoma knew he couldn't go to a club. He'd be so awkward there. He'd probably stand in the corner and drink a Ponta and dream of playing tennis. And everyone else would be _dancing._ Ryoma hated dancing.

Ryoma frowned, and his eyes drifted to his tennis bag, which lay slumped against the bedpost. Tennis. That was clearly the only thing he could rely on. "Hey, Momo-senpai," he said, absentmindedly. "Where do you sign up for the tennis team?"

"Tennis?" Momo's eyes lit up, and he threw his English book aside in excitement. "I'm on the tennis team too. You should join, it's really fun."

"That's why I'm asking," Ryoma deadpanned.

"Uh… the sign ups…" Momo furrowed his brow. "Oh, hey. I think this is the last day."

"Oh," Ryoma said.

"Today at…" Momo scrounged around in his brain. "2 pm?"

"What time is it?" Ryoma asked hesitantly.

Momo glanced at this monitor. "It's uh… oh shit! It's 1:55!"

Ryoma cursed darkly, grabbed his tennis bag, and fled for the exit. He _had_ to join the tennis team. It was the only thing that would keep him sane.

* * *

The seasons changed.

At least, that was how Ryoma felt when he found himself staring at Tezuka Kunimitsu. The man was standing against the front of a lecture hall door, checking his watch idly. He looked invincible, like he was carved out of the material Gods were made of. Ryoma, unconsciously, found himself admiring his long, lean form. Interesting. Very interesting.

With a half-hearted attempt at a smile, Ryoma came up to him. "Ne, is this where I sign up for the tennis club?" he asked.

Tezuka glanced at him briefly, not seeming overly interested. "The sign ups ended today at two."

Ryoma blinked. "It is two?"

"No. It's two…" Tezuka looked at his watch, "and five minutes."

"But I-"

"Our tennis club does not tolerate letting our guards down."

Ryoma stared at him in disbelief, while piecing together the fact that his stoic expression perfectly matched his stoic personality. Taking a small breath, Ryoma shrugged, "Che. You're missing out. I'm probably better than all of the players on your team." This earned him a look of complete bewilderment, like Tezuka had no idea what the hell his cocky freshman was even doing here. Ryoma stood in front of him stubbornly, unmoving.

Tezuka shifted. "It's not a matter for discussion."

"This is stupid," Ryoma said.

"I'm sorry if this is disappointing, but punctuality is valued here, especially from incoming freshmen."

"What about tennis skills?" Ryoma challenged, fire in his eyes. "Are _those_ valued?"

Tezuka opened his mouth, as if to reply, but suddenly, a familiar form sidled up next to him, a sweet, easy smile on his face. Fuji Syusuke, Ryoma recognized instantly. His stomach did a weird flipflop which he fervently ignored. Tezuka gave a slight nod to Fuji, and they shared an expression that Ryoma thought was a little too intense for friendship. Fuji noticed him.

"Echizen," Fuji said, sounding pleased. "You're signing up for the tennis club?

Maybe this could work in his favour. "I'm _trying,_ " Ryoma said.

"You know him?" Tezuka said with a frown.

"Not really," Fuji said. The words hurt, for some reason. But then Fuji sent a look his way, eyes open, and Ryoma's mind went blank, as if all of his thoughts had been vacuumed out. He swallowed uncomfortably, and turned back to Tezuka. "Buchou," he said. "You are the buchou right?"

Tezuka nodded in assent.

"Buchou," Ryoma re-affirmed. "I need tennis."

This time, both Tezuka and Fuji had quieted, and were staring at him with consideration. Ryoma hoped to whatever ancient God was living up there in the clouds that he was granted permission to join the team. He'd even _grovel_ if he had to. Tennis was his life. If he wasn't able to play on a tennis team, he thought he'd die. Literally.

Tezuka must have seen the desperation in his eyes, because he sighed, and wrote a note on his clipboard. "Fine. But I expect you to be on time for tryouts."

"I will," Ryoma said coolly, like he hadn't just been on the brink of having a meltdown.

He was ready to turn on his heel and get away, but Fuji grabbed his shoulder. Ryoma froze at the touch. He turned around and found himself face to face with Fuji, and his breath hitched when he noticed how wet and shiny Fuji's lips looked up close.

Ryoma blinked. Oh man, what was wrong with him? He'd never had thoughts like this in his life before.

Fuji's eyes were piercing. "Are you coming tonight?"

"Coming?" Ryoma said dazedly.

"To the club?"

"Oh, that. Uh, I'm not. No."

"What? Why?" Fuji sounded disappointed.

"Don't want to."

"Don't be stubborn," Fuji said lightly. "You're coming."

"I'm - I'm not," Ryoma said, frustrated.

"I will drag you there," Fuji said brightly.

What the _actual_ fuck?

Before he could shove Fuji on the ground and run for his life, Tezuka intervened. "Fuji," he said sternly. "Leave him alone. He's a freshman." There was an intense moment where Fuji stared Tezuka down, and Tezuka stared back, unfazed. Ryoma watched them unnervingly keep eye contact, before Fuji turned his head to the side and said, "Echizen, I'll see you tonight, okay?"

And then, lo and behold, Fuji and Tezuka kissed.

Ryoma just stood there, mouth hanging open. Then he turned and walked out numbly through the front doors, never looking back.

* * *

Ryoma was sheltered in many ways.

He'd grown up with a mindset that was incredibly focused and zoned in on the few important things he valued: tennis, his cat, food, Ponta, and occasionally school for the heck of it. Other things were fragments in his memory, passing thoughts that disappeared the moment they were had. He remembered seeing a couple kissing once by the lockers in his junior year.

He'd paused, arms clenching around his books. For a moment, he'd wondered if he should be kissing people too. Then the bell signalled the end of school, and the start of tennis practice, and Ryoma forgot all about it.

One of his annoying friends, Horio, had pestered, "You don't like _any_ girls? But that's - that's ridiculous!"

"I don't," Ryoma said blankly.

"None? Not even Harumi-chan? She's so pretty!"

"I don't care," Ryoma said.

It had never bugged him before. Not really. He didn't get why there were so many heartbreak and love-struck songs playing on the radio all the time. He didn't get why all movies focused on romance. He didn't understand why all the boys in his class talked about sex and girls all day. Tennis was… so much more interesting. It always had been.

But as Ryoma lay in bed, hand resting on his stomach, squinting into warm sunlight, he kept replaying what he'd seen. Fuji's eyes glancing over at him, sharp and beautiful, before he'd locked his mouth on Tezuka, the captain. The kiss had been silent and soft, but he'd seen the way Tezuka's arms had encircled Fuji's waist, pulled him close. He could imagine the heat between them, the way their bodies would have felt against each other -

Ryoma suddenly felt hot and very flushed lying on the bed. He quickly sat up, breathing heavily. What the fuck?

Maybe he was getting sick. Stumbling off the bed, Ryoma went and splashed his face with cold water. He stared at his own eyes, his own damp black-green hair, and calmed down. Maybe he wasn't so immune to these things after all.

"Echizen," Momo said, coming by the doorway.

Ryoma jerked up. "Nothing!"

"Ehhh?"

"I mean… nothing. I was just washing my face."

Momo shot him a weird look. He was twirling a keychain around his finger. "Hey, so, I'm going to a club tonight. Wanna come along?"

"A club?" Ryoma asked, still feeling nauseous.

"Yeah. Fuji-senpai invited everyone."

Oh. Fuji. Ryoma stared uneasily at Momo. That made sense, since Momo was on the tennis team with them, but if Fuji invited everyone, did that mean Tezuka would be there too? Would he see them kissing again? The address was still scribbled on his hand, and Ryoma swallowed. It seemed the fates wanted him to go to this club.

Momo was looking at him with wide, hopeful violet eyes.

He remembered his mother's concerned voice, all of a sudden, _Ryoma, honey. Try to make friends there. It'll make you happier._

He'd always been so antisocial.

"Fine," Ryoma said, regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. "I'll come."

Momo fist pumped the air, but Ryoma just stared at the sky and felt as if he were drowning. Stupid English poem or not, maybe the earth really was splitting in two.

* * *

The moment Ryoma walked into the club, he knew he'd made a mistake. A giant wave of people swallowed him up. Frantically, Ryoma tried to find Momo, but the taller boy had been swept up by the sea of club goers. _He's not abandoning me,_ Ryoma tried to tell himself. _He's not abandoning me._ But the feeling still circled in his stomach.

It wasn't true. A few minutes later, a hand grabbed his elbow, and Momo was there, eyes sparkling apologetically. "Sorry. It's crowded!" he shouted. "Come on."

Ryoma let himself be dragged through the masses toward the bar. His gold eyes speculatively passed all of the different people. Girls in pretty dresses. Some boys had resorted to dancing shirtless, and Ryoma smelled sweat and heard loud music. Was this supposed to be fun? Maybe if he got drunk it would be fun.

Right now it was the most horrifying thing Ryoma had ever seen.

They arrived at a quieter area, where a group of boys were sitting on a row of stools. Momo let go of him and plopped down on one of the chairs. Three sets of other eyes peered at him, and Ryoma wanted to flee. On the left, Fuji was there, but notably, Tezuka was absent. Beside Fuji was a red-haired boy with illuminating blue eyes, and next to him was a bowl-head.

"Ah, Oishi! Don't leave!" The red-haired boy cried.

"But Eiji," Oishi said gently. "I have to wake up early to go volunteering tomorrow."

"Nya! You're no fun." Eiji had a vice-grip on Oishi, and was clearly not planning on letting go anytime soon.

Ryoma stared at them. The loud music continued to sever his eardrums. Ryoma glanced at Fuji, and the image of him and Tezuka kissing came up again, vivid and clear. His face heated up, and he averted his gaze to the ground.

"Echizen," Fuji said. "You came."

"Momo-senpai took me," Ryoma said, not looking at him.

"You listened to Momo, but not me?" Fuji said lightly.

Ryoma shrugged.

"Fuji, who's that? He's such an ochibi!" Eiji said.

"That's Echizen," Fuji said. "He's a freshman."

"So young!" Eiji gasped. "You're like a chibi!"

Ryoma bristled. "I'm not!"

"Why is he at a club?" Oishi said, worry seeping into his voice. "He's underage."

Fuji just smiled widely. "He'll be fine."

"It's not _fine,_ " Oishi pressed. His protests fell on deaf ears.

Ten minutes later, Ryoma somehow found himself squished between Fuji and Kikumaru. It turned out Kikumaru and Oishi were also part of the tennis team. They went by the name Golden Pair because they were apparently unbeatable in doubles. Ryoma had never played doubles before, and he watched them with quiet fascination as they took turns sipping from the same glass of tequila.

"Oishi! You take too small sips. I'm drinking most of it," Kikumaru babbled.

"I have volunteering tomorrow," Oishi said.

"Screw that!"

"Eiji!"

He didn't know how two people could be so comfortable around each other.

Meanwhile, Kikumaru had one arm wrapped around Ryoma, as if they'd known each other for years. The weight of his arm was the strangest feeling in the world, but it felt kind of good. He'd always been such a non-contact person, but there was a warmth in touching.

Oh, god. What was happening to him?

Momo had left the scene to dance with a couple of girls, satisfied that his kouhai was in good hands. On his other side, Fuji was staring at the floating ice cubes in his glass of whiskey. Ryoma clenched his hands in his lap, hating the way his own eyes followed Fuji's thick lashes, his slow sweep of a sweet mouth.

He'd never felt these things before.

"Echizen." Fuji smiled. "Have some." He held out the alcoholic beverage.

"I've never drank before," Ryoma said.

"It's okay," Fuji said. "Just try it."

Ryoma nodded in assent, and Fuji handed him the cup. Ryoma tried to ignore the brush of fingers, the purposeful way Fuji's hand lingered on his before the glass was handed off. Under the flashing lights and music, Ryoma took a sip under Fuji's watchful eye. Immediately, a strong burning sensation filled his mouth.

"How is this good?" He coughed. "Ponta is way better."

"It's an accustomed taste," Fuji said.

Ryoma took another sip, and swallowed it down, a long aching burn streaking the back of his throat. He hurriedly handed the glass back to Fuji, and the older boy laughed, angelically. "You're cute," he said, and Ryoma's neck grew warm. At least the dim lights hid any of his discomfort.

"Che, not cute," Ryoma said.

"That's for me to decide."

"Whatever," Ryoma said.

As the hours grew heavy, the club got more crowded, and Ryoma felt like was wedged in a room full of flopping seals. His eyes became heavy, and his stomach felt warm from the random sips of alcohol he'd been handed by Fuji. He wasn't drunk - not even close, but the sensation was odd and tingly. His blood felt like a thick fuzz blanket had cloaked it.

Oishi had been forced to stay without a say in the matter, and Ryoma idly watched the golden pair dance. Kikumaru was drunk, eyes starlit, peals of laughter escaping his open mouth. He clung to Oishi, who only smiled amusedly, a fond expression on his face. Was that _love?_

Ryoma stared at them, intrigued.

Fuji was watching him. Ryoma glanced at the boy, who maintained perfect eye contact. Ryoma wondered why he'd never met anyone like Fuji in his high school - someone so soft, yet devilish, a raging ocean hidden behind a surface of ice. The way Fuji looked at him was unnerving. Ryoma abruptly stood up.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he announced.

Fuji smiled knowingly. "Okay." He paused. "Be careful, okay?"

Ryoma didn't respond. He squeezed through the crowd of people. As he made his way to the back, he nearly jumped when he felt a brush against his ass. He whipped around and glared, but the crowd opened and closed, like a swallowing sea, and he had no idea who'd done it. He hated this place. Who the fuck willingly went to clubs? Only stupid people, Ryoma deduced.

On his quest for the bathroom, Ryoma instead ended up in the back of the club exit. Ryoma stepped outside and nearly cried from relief. The moon hung heavy in the sky, and darkness enveloped the area. Ryoma breathed in deeply, and sighed. The fresh air felt good. The quiet felt good. He warily glanced around, but the few other people lingering didn't seem interested.

Good.

Maybe he'd just stay here all evening. Or maybe he'd just start walking home. He stared at the lone empty sidewalks and decided he should probably wait for Momo.

Not that he was scared or anything. Obviously.

Peering around, Ryoma noticed a limo parked at the end of a curb. Following the length of the limo, a tall boy was sleeping against the hood. The boy shifted, and Ryoma realized he wasn't sleeping, but instead staring at the moon and stars. Fuelled by the pinches of alcohol in his system, and a sort of languid ease, Ryoma approached the boy.

On closer inspection, Ryoma stifled a gasp. The boy was beautiful. He had ash brown hair and a single mole beneath his grey-blue eyes; his body, even clothed, resembled fine art. Ryoma just stared, and he watched until those pretty eyes shifted and met Ryoma's. There was a long moment of complete silence.

"Who are you?" the boy finally said.

Ryoma ignored the question. "Why do you have a limo?"

The boy raised a perfect eyebrow. "Do you know who I am?"

"No," Ryoma said shortly.

This led to another silence. Finally, the boy turned upright and sat facing Ryoma, long legs trailing to the damp ground. He flipped a strand of hair out of his eyes, and studied Ryoma with intensity. "Ahn… you are a nice piece of ass, aren't you?" he said, eyes going up and down as if deciding Ryoma was worthy.

Ryoma swallowed. "Um."

What was he supposed to say to that? He'd never been called _a nice piece of ass._ He'd been called tennis prodigy, genius, gifted, intelligent, athletic, and all of those other names. But this was a new one.

The boy smirked. "I'm Keigo."

Ryoma looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"You really don't know who I am, do you?" Keigo said.

Ryoma shook his head.

"That's strange," Keigo said. "Everyone knows me." He let his eyes trail over Ryoma again. "Well, no matter. You'll get to know me soon enough."

"I will?" Ryoma echoed.

He didn't know why he'd ambled over here. The boy was pretty and Ryoma had been bored.

"Yes," Keigo said, and he suddenly went onto his feet. Before Ryoma could react, Keigo leaned down, and pressed his mouth on Ryoma's, slick and warm and confident. Ryoma just stood there dumbly, a wave of heat rushing through his body so fast he felt lightheaded.

Everything went white and blank.

Ryoma heard sirens in the back of his melting mind.

* * *

 **Just to clarify, the last two lines aren't signifying anything happened. The "white and blank" and "heard sirens" was just alluding to the complete shock Ryoma was in, that he was basically hearing white noise… just in case someone thought he'd literally passed out and the police were coming or something haha. The kiss just made him a complete disaster ;)**


End file.
